Like a Teddy Bear
by surelock
Summary: "And that's the thing with him. It's no use trying to hide what you are because Sherlock sees right through everyone and everything in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things." Scenarios in which Sherlock is utterly oblivious.
1. Zebras

**Summary: **"And that's the thing with him. It's no use trying to hide what you are because Sherlock sees right through everyone and everything in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things." Scenarios in which Sherlock is utterly oblivious.

**Rating: **Mostly K/K+, but T just to be safe. Maybe even a couple M chapters later on?

**Disclaimer: **_BBC Sherlock_ and all characters from the programme belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

* * *

Chapter 1: Zebras

"Remind me why we're here, John?"

Sherlock really didn't see the need for outings that weren't related to a case unless they were absolutely necessary; And going to the zoo with his flatmate John Watson was most definitely not listed in the 'absolutely necessary' category. Yet, here they were because _please, Sherlock, just this once _and _they are non-refundable tickets, Sherlock _and _Sherlock, I never ask anything of you!_ Sherlock had walked past John and into the awaiting cab downstairs at that point just to shut him up.

John sighed, "You know why. Don't make me say-"

"Jeanette couldn't make it. Well, I say 'couldn't make it'. She obviously stood you up and ran back to her ex-boyfriend when he proposed to her last night after your date. Stupid girl, he's leaving to Spain next week to be with his second wife," He paused and shrugged his shoulders, "No matter. She was boring anyways, John."

John pursed his lips, "Her name was Stacy."

"Right, right- the secretary! Jeanette was the school teacher."

"Right," John muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "Where to next?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes pointedly, "How should I know? I've never stepped foot in a zoo before."

"Really? Never?" He knew he shouldn't be surprised by this, for Sherlock did not have the average mentality as your typical child, but Mycroft had said he had wanted to be a pirate at some point, so just how not-normal could he really have been?

"Never," He replied curtly.

They kept walking in silence, and every now and then John would see Sherlock's eyes flicker towards the gorillas or the monkeys, obviously fascinated, but obviously hiding the fascination. John truly hoped that inside his brilliant mind he was staring in awe and not just attempting to deduce every action the animals made. _Ah, the banana was slightly green, so the mountain gorilla was having an affair. Oh, he scratched his arse, so of course the other primate stole the tire..._

Sherlock made a sudden huff and shook his head.

"Something the matter?"

The taller man pointed a gloved finger at the sign that directed towards the zebras, "Really, John? You're lucky enough I agreed to come to this vile tourist destination- don't try to force me upon the children's section."

John knitted his eyebrows together, unsure of how to answer, "I'm sorry?" he asked instead.

"The 'zebras', John."

"What about them?"

"Oh, please."

"Sherlock, I really don't know what you're trying to get at."

"Honestly John, I'm not that 'spectacularly ignorant', as you so kindly put it," he spat, "What's next? Unicorns? Hippogriffs? Daleks?"

John tried to keep his laughter at bay, really he did, but try as he might it did not stop the continuous ripples of laughter that lasted long after they left the London Zoo. Even when Sherlock had promptly stomped off in embarrassment and John had to have employees call his name on the monitors as if he were a lost child, he still couldn't help but giggle to himself. He smiled the entire cab ride home, and smiled as he let an angered Sherlock Holmes into their flat. Smiled when he fixed themselves tea and Jammie Dodgers, and smiled when Sherlock simply turned his back to John, positively pouting in his silk robe. Sherlock refused to speak to his blonde friend for the rest of the night, and played his violin loudly and out of tune to make John suffer- for it wasn't his fault that he had erased the fact that zebras were apparently not a mythical species.


	2. Meaning

**Summary: **"And that's the thing with him. It's no use trying to hide what you are because Sherlock sees right through everyone and everything in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things." Scenarios in which Sherlock is utterly oblivious.

**Rating: T** for this one

**Disclaimer: **_BBC Sherlock_ and all characters from the programme belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

**Quick AN:** _Thanks so much for the positive reviews! They're all very much appreciated- I'm thrilled I made some of you giggle! This one's not as humourous, but I felt like writing a bit of Molly, so here it is. (Although, no, I'm not a Sherlock/Molly fan. I'm all for Johnlock, but Molly as an individual has always made me smile, what with her quirkiness. It's rather cute, I think. _

* * *

Chapter 2: Meaning

John Watson was not clueless when it came to women. What he lacked in height he made up with playful banter- wooing women with his words rather than his body. Because no, he wasn't the most fit man in England, and no, he wasn't tall enough for a date to be able to stand on her tip-toes just to be able to kiss him. John knew this, and he spent much of his young adult life longing to excel in the physical department of being a boyfriend. After attending medical school and joining the military, though, he realised he got on just fine without these traits. He could flirt with women like there was no tomorrow, and in return, women flirted right back. (With the exception of Anthea, of course...What the hell was on her mobile phone that entranced her so?)

Sherlock, however, did not share this skill.

Not that he needed to, really- he had made it very clear the first day they met that he had no interest seeking a romantic relationship of any sort. Still, as John watched Molly Hooper's hopeless flirtatious advances towards the consulting detective, he couldn't help but wonder if Sherlock even _knew_ what she was doing.

Molly was wringing her hands together, watching the taller man inspect the dead body on the lab table, "Sherlock, I was wondering"-

"Not now, John."

John's cheeks flushed and he quickly gave an apologetic glance towards Molly.

She fidgeted, "It's Molly."

"Mm," was his only reply.

Another silent minute passed before Sherlock promptly straightened his posture, striding over to fetch his scarf, "Right then, I think I've got everything. Come along, John."

John nodded and followed him towards the door, before lingering back a moment. He looked over at the awkward pathologist and couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the poor girl, "Actually, Sherlock, I think Molly was trying to ask you something."

Sherlock, who was already half-way out the door, flipped his head back instantly, glaring at John with utmost exasperation. The ex-army doctor merely gave a stern look in return, (one that a parent might give a disobedient child) and after a few seconds of battling with their stares, Sherlock groaned and pushed his way back into the morgue.

He stared at Molly expectantly.

She bit her lip and teetered on the heels of her feet precariously, "Um, I was wondering, maybe you'd like to have coffee some time?"

Sherlock straightened his collar, "We've just had coffee."

"I meant with me."

"We've just had coffee," he repeated.

"I meant without John, I mean maybe this weekend, outside of work. I know it's not your thing, but it could be fun- I'm fun. I don't mean fun as in _fun_, I mean"-

"Please stop saying 'mean', Molly. You're rambling again."

Molly stuffed her hands in her lab coat pockets, "Er- sorry. Um, so what do you say?"

"Oh, no. Keep the body free of examination, would you? I don't want Anderson to go poking around and ruining the evidence," Sherlock nodded to her, "Afternoon, Molly Hooper."

Molly simply began wringing her hands together once more, obviously not phased by his rejection, and nodded back with a small grin. _So this is normal, then. It's happened before_, John thought, because anyone one with a functioning brain could have deducted that much.

"Sherlock!" he scolded as soon as they were out of hearing distance.

Sherlock was typing away on his phone, "Hmm?"

"That wasn't nice, Sherlock," he stated simply, rubbing his temple in frustration.

"What wasn't?"

John sighed, "Back there, what you said to Molly. The poor girl's trying to ask you for a date and you flat out say 'no'!"

"Was she?" Sherlock asked, scrunching up his face in what looked like disgust, "Do dates usually involve sitting 'round and drinking coffe? Rather dull, don't you think?"

"That's not the point, Sherlock."

He brushed a curl from his face as the cool air nipped at their noses, "I didn't know she was implying that, John," he paused for a moment, "Honest."

"For someone so smart, you really are an idiot, you know that?"

"Hardly. Dating is useless, John- We've been over this."

"Doesn't matter, you've got to apologise to her."

"Uhhhm, no."

"What? What do you mean _no_?"

"Ugh, again with all this 'mean-ing'. I mean _no_."

"Yes."

"No."

_"Sherlock."_

_"John."  
_

In the end, Sherlock had typed out a short but _meaningful_ text under the supervision and approval of John. Sherlock wouldn't have minded so much if John hadn't forced him to add a smiley face before pressing 'send'.


	3. Sebastian

**Summary: **"And that's the thing with him. It's no use trying to hide what you are because Sherlock sees right through everyone and everything in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things." Scenarios in which Sherlock is utterly oblivious.

**Rating: T **

**Disclaimer: **_BBC Sherlock_ and all characters from the programme belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

**AN (Which you really should glance at, please!) **_This one's a bit different. This time, good ol' Jawn is the oblivious one. Not exactly romantic Johnlock (because this story will show them in a platonic sort of way) but if you wish to see it as such, then by all means, go for it! _

* * *

Chapter 3: Sebastian

John thought Sherlock hadn't heard- hadn't listened to such a distasteful, albeit interesting, conversation. But he had. And now, as Sherlock found that he often was in the time that he's known John, he was unsure. Unsure and guilty and worried. The human emotions left a sickening ache in the pit of his stomach. It was not a welcome feeling.

_But really, by now he should know that eventually I hear everything!, _Sherlock's mind grumbled in defense.

Grumbled. That's new. Sherlock couldn't recall ever 'grumbling' about something before, let alone_ someone. _Perhaps when he was younger, on the days when Mycroft had excelled in areas that Sherlock could not. Back when they were children, and Mummy's approval and affection were always prized to his brother. He had whined and pouted, and maybe even sulked, he was sure- but that was sibling rivalry. That was his brother. This was John. _And no, _said Sherlock's Mind Palace, _you've yet to grumble about John._

_But John was well deserved of a good Grumble! __  
_

Except that, in all honesty, he really wasn't.

Sherlock didn't mean to leave the microphone on John's jacket. Well, he did, but not to listen in on that particular moment of John running into Sherlock's old 'acquaintance' from university on his way back from buying the milk. That was merely a test run. He was planning on using it for a case Lestrade had dropped off the day before. The microphone was working marvelously, the sound crisp and clear, and he was just about to switch it off when-

_"John Watson, would you look at that!"_

_Sherlock knew that voice._

_"Ah, hello, uhm..."_

_Obviously John did not._

_"Seb. Seb Wilkes? What, the fame gone to your head, has it?"_

_John cleared his throat, "Right, yes, of course. Hello, Sebastian."_

_"Oh, just Seb, please. So,"  
_

_Another clear of the throat. Sherlock smiled. John didn't want to stay and have a chat, but the 'so' indicated that he was about to whether he liked it or not.  
_

_"...still running about with Holmes, then? I've seen you in the papers. 'Hat-Man and Robin'- that's brilliant!" he gave a hearty laugh. "Never thought the loser would make the front page 'less he murdered someone!"  
_

_More heavy cackling. John did not join in.  
_

_"Yeah, well, there's a lot more to him than people realise."  
_

_"Is that so?"  
_

_"Yes."  
_

_A muffled sound shot through the microphone's speaker. Had John crossed his arms? Odd. He didn't do that often.  
_

_"Defensive, are we?...Alright, sure, but even you can't deny that he is a bit mad." Seb spoke softer now, his voice difficult to make out.  
_

_A pause.  
_

_"Well yeah, he is Sherlock after all...He's completely bonkers at times, but you know, that's just how he is," John spoke hesitantly.  
_

_"I remember once at UNI, couple of us popped out for a drink, and he was there, staring at us and doing that, that 'thing'-"  
_

_"Deducting," John said, his tone taking a warmer route.  
_

_"Yeah! So we're all having a good time- Talking and dancing, you know, when suddenly Holmes creeps up right next to my mate and his girlfriend. They're there snogging, and the freak inches closer and closer till he's right between them, and he takes out a paper and pen, jotting down notes! Can you believe it?"  
_

_Seb gave out a hoot of laughter, and this time, John's high-pitched giggles erupted with along him, "I can, actually. He's ridiculous."__  
_

_"That's not even the worst bit. He mutters to himself when he's thinking, don't he? Well, he kept saying 'fascinating' and 'interesting', and me mate, his name's Charlie, he pulls away from his girl and punches him right on the spot. He apologised later of course, but-"  
_

_"Hang on- Sherlock apologised?"  
_

_"God, no. Charlie did- for hitting him. But Sherlock just ignored him. What a dick, eh? I mean, he was the one invading their personal space."  
_

_"I know what you mean. Sherlock's been the cause of at **least** three of my failed relationships." John took a deep breath and chuckled, "Sometimes I wonder if I'd be better off with a normal, sane flatmate. Always making me do the shopping, going through my things, leaving a mess in our home, calling me an idiot, what kind of a shit friend-"__  
_

But Sherlock had walked off.

So there he was, pacing about his bedroom with this- this _feeling_. He was still grumbling, only the grumbling had escalated into something even more worrisome, something he couldn't quite place a finger on. This only further bothered him, for when has the great consulting detective ever been so bloody _sad_?

* * *

John fumbled with his keys, taking a moment longer than needed in unlocking the door to his flat. His hands were still shaking, and he struggled with keeping himself still. He shouldn't have said that. He really shouldn't have. But he had. Why did he feel so guilty? It's not like Sherlock was even there. _Because it was really, very wrong of you, _said a voice in the back of his head.

He slowly entered the flat, and walked swiftly to the fridge, placing the milk inside, right next to the blonde strands of hair in a plastic bag and the skin cells floating happily in a yellowing petri dish. John gave a tired sigh as he then went to his usual seat, ready to read a nice book, when he first heard it. A tired sigh that mimicked his maybe a half a second after.

John twisted his head around, and stared in horror as he noticed a speaker sitting on the coffee table.

* * *

They didn't talk about it. They figured there really wasn't a need to. John knew Sherlock had heard his conversation with Stupid Seb Wilkes, and Sherlock knew that John knew he knew. All this 'knowing' and yet the two of them went on as normal, as if nothing happened. A week had passed and it seemed that the whole thing was forgotten, tucked into the back of their brains. Sherlock's Mind Palace, John's Mind Cottage.

* * *

"I'm sorry." John had said suddenly, twelve days after.

Sherlock stared at the paper in front of him, focusing much too hard on the words he wasn't even reading. "Hm?"

"You say you haven't got feelings. But you do. And I hurt them. Sometimes, I'm such an idiot that I forget that you are, in the end, just a human being. And I'm so, so sorry, Sherlock. Please, forgive me."

Sherlock said nothing.

* * *

The next day, John found that the kitchen was completely cleared of all experiments- The bloodied body parts vanished, the refrigerator filled with fruits and vegetables, and eggs and butter and jam, and the sink scrubbed till it gleamed in the pale sunlight.

"It's okay," said a voice like silk behind him, "Now, let's put these eggs to use, shall we? A bit juvenile, but I'd love to see Wilkes flat covered in yolk, wouldn't you?"


End file.
